


Lost, and Found

by sidewinder



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Faked Death, M/M, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: While grieving the loss of one, Paul discovers the truth about another.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Lost, and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



Paul had always believed that you would somehow _know_ it when someone you truly loved was gone.

The people you were closest to—like your mum, your dad, or a sibling.

Your spouse. Or your soul mate.

And yeah, those last two could be completely different people.

The loss of these individuals would leave a hole in your heart and your life that was inescapable, yet also impossible to describe in words. It didn’t matter if you were there or not to see it happen. Their light was gone from the world and your connection to them, at least in this place and plane of existence, severed forever.

And you’d _know._ Even from halfway around the world, you’d _know_.

Was that his foolish, romantic side thinning that way? Could be. But he’d felt it for Linda, the moment her flame had flickered out. And he’d known that if he could manage to find a love like hers again, it would never fill that certain space in his heart and his soul where she had resided. Where, in a way, she always would.

He’d felt it even for some of his idols, his fellow musicians and compatriots, gone too soon from this world.

Yet what was strange was, as much as he had grieved for the man, _that_ man…he hadn’t felt the same way following John’s death. Yes, his absence left an emptiness in Paul’s life but he’d never been able to fully reconcile to it having happened. To it being real.

And maybe because of that, he had always questioned it. Or maybe it was his questioning it that kept him from feeling the loss fully, and ever healing from it.

It was an eternal conundrum.

Or so he thought it would be, for many years.

 _Until_.

-

July, 1998. The heat on this Paris street would have been unbearable if not for the cool glass of rosé he sipped while seeking shade under the awning of a busy café. Paul liked Paris—or rather he liked the Parisiens. They tended to mind their own business, not notice those sitting around at other tables so much. And even if anyone did recognize him, they were far too laid back, too proper, to cause a scene or make a fuss. A waiter might slip a napkin or piece of paper for him to sign before he left. It was all good. _C’est tout bon._

It was a fine afternoon to contemplate his life moving forward, without Linda by his side.

He’d needed to go somewhere by himself. It had been three months but sometimes it felt like only three days, some times forever. The kids and his family had been there for him, for each other as much as possible. And yet after a while a solitary distraction had been necessary. A change of scenery, good for the spirit. He’d felt somewhat guilty leaving them behind but he’d needed this, for a week or two, as anonymous as he could manage, to sort himself out.

Alone. Or so he’d thought. So he had been, until being rudely interrupted on this bright and sunny afternoon in a very _non_ -French-like fashion.

“Isn’t it amazing how people overlook what’s right there in front of their eyes?”

Who would dare ask him such a question, so close? Paul’s first reaction was extreme, short-tempered annoyance—someone had violated the unspoken etiquette of leaving him alone. In one split second he thought of lashing out with a quick but biting verbal dismissal, to call over his waiter to ask to move tables or go inside. To grab the check and flee. But in the next flash of a instant, something about _that_ _voice_ registered in his mind, an almost primal recognition.

That voice. It was...

 _Impossible_.

Wasn’t it?

Paul looked up, glanced to his left to the tiny table beside his own. Found a man sitting there looking at him with clear bemusement, his eyes hidden behind tinted round glasses, short greying hairpeeking out beneath his beret.

A man who could be anyone. Nondescript, unless you knew who you were looking at. Who you were looking _for._

 _Impossible_ , again. Because that man was—or was supposed to be—eighteen years in the grave.

Before Paul could speak, the man shushed him with the raise of a finger to his lips. He shifted his table closer, nearly touching, scraping his metal chair against the sidewalk so they were sitting face-to-face.

“How…?” Paul struggled to ask, a torrent of questions flooding his mind. _How is this possible? How are you here? How did you know where to find me?_

“It’s a long, long story, as I’m sure you can imagine. Care to go for a walk?” The man titled his head toward the park, across the street from this café. “A little more private there, nothing but two mates strolling along, catching up on nearly two decades.”

How could Paul say no? How could he say _anything_ in that moment? It took all his effort to manage a nod, while the other man beckoned for the waiter, asking for _"L'addition, s'il vous plait."_

-

Paul felt like he was walking in a dream...sleepwalking. Had to be. There was no way he was taking a casual stroll through Luxembourg Gardens with John.

With a dead man.

And not a single other person was paying them the slightest bit of attention.

“As I was beginning to say, the human mind is truly amazing, isn’t it?” John remarked, as if this was the most normal thing in the universe. As if it hadn’t been eighteen years since the world had momentarily come to a halt to mourn his tragic, violent death. “Feed it with tasty, tantalizing lies and scandal, it will devour them with hunger and ignore the truth right before it. Why, I could jump on that park bench right now, break into a rousing rendition of ‘Long Tall Sally’, and they’d all think I was some deranged nutter. Which may not be so far from the truth.”

“John, how...I mean, _why_ …?”

“Two very different questions. The how is not so important. Not now, at least. Some careful trickery and planning with a willing sacrifice hungry for the glory and fame I wished to avoid. And then the mind is fooled into believing what one is _told_ , versus what one can _see_. If you ever looked closely enough.”

“That’s no answer.”

“And you’re not getting a better one. Next question: why. That’s a little easier to explain.” John stopped in front of a rose bush in full bloom, bent down to inhale its fragrance. There, briefly, was that enigmatic, charismatic smile Paul had known in what felt like another lifetime ago. “Everything was good again. Perfect, in a way it never had been before. Album a success. People cared about my music again. My music with Yoko. _We_ were perfect, too. Mom, dad, Sean...a perfect happy family exactly where we belonged. And I knew it couldn’t last.”

“Why not?”

“Happiness, contentment, it never does. Never has. I knew eventually it would all turn to shit again, so why wait for that to happen? Go out on a high note instead and leave them all wanting more instead of hating or laughing at me.”

“And hurt all the people who cared about you. Who loved you.”

“We all die someday and leave behind people who cared. Or at least pretend to care. I merely sped up the process. Took it on my own terms. Yoko knows...she helped me orchestrate it all. The greatest piece of performance art of her life. She’ll tell Sean, someday. Maybe we both will, together. Maybe even tell the world! But right now, this is good.” He paused to pluck a daisy, hand it to Paul. “I was sorry to hear about Linda.”

“Thank you. At least I’ve been grieving for one truly dead person.”

John flinched. “I’ll own that. How long are you in Paris?”

“Another week.”

“I’ll be moving on soon myself. Never staying in one place for too long. Seeing the world, y’know? For real this time, not always on the run from screaming birds, the press, whomever.” He sighed, gave Paul a more serious look as they stood paused in the garden, surrounded by passing strangers completely unaware of this legendary reunion happening before them. “That’s why I wanted to find you. In case you were feeling alone. Let you know I was still here. In care you might ever wish to join me.”

“In playing dead?”

“In being whomever we want to be, instead of forever just being a Beatle.” John held Paul’s gaze, reached up to touch his face, and before Paul could react leaned in to kiss him.

Paul was taken by such surprise he didn’t even quite realize what had happened until it was over, until John had pulled back to look at him curiously, with amusement, and a little sadness. “Too bad it took me dying to work up the courage to do that.”

“John, I…”

“No, none of that. Let me remember it as it was. Happiness never lasts, remember? I should get going. After that, too many nosy eyes may be on us now. Have a good life, Paulie. And if you get tired of it, we can find each other again.”

As John started to move to turn away, Paul blurted out, “I love you, you know. I always have.”

“I know. Always loved you too, even when I sometimes hated you.”

“I wish…” Paul paused and laughed. “I wish it hadn’t taken you dying for me to say it to you.”

“Dying is easy. It’s the living that’s the hard part. So until another lifetime…” John stepped back as he trailed off, tipping his hat before he turned to walk away.

Paul watched him as long as he dared. And then turned to head back in the other direction. Back to this reality. Back to his life as it now was.

But never to be the same, again.


End file.
